Undetected

  “If you decide to tell him no as well, send him to me. We will commiserate together out on a boat somewhere with a couple of fishing rods and a bunch of sunscreen and memories of the wonderful girl that slipped through our fingers.”

  She offered a brief smile. “Thank you for being so kind about this.”

  “If I thought I had a chance of changing your decision, I’d be in the middle of a new pitch right now, Gina. I don’t want to let you go.” He looked away for a moment, and his voice sounded tight when he finished, “But I’m going to handle this well for my own sake as well as yours.”

  “You deserve a wonderful wife, Daniel.”

  “Someday that prayer gets answered for me,” Daniel replied. “You’ll find a husband too, Gina.”

  “Maybe. I don’t have the courage to do this again. If the right answer with Mark is no, I’m going to take a break from that dream, at least for a while. It hurts too much, having to say no.”

  19

  What felt like the longest patrol of his career was finally coming to an end. Bishop watched the sun dip into the western horizon, then lifted binoculars to scan Delta Pier as the Nevada drew near, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gina among those waiting. He heard, but ignored, a conversation above him by the lookouts as they did the same.

  The crew knew the captain had a romantic interest, that this patrol had been spent hoping for a message from her. He’d added her name to his second sheet so she could send a family-o-gram or get updates about the boat from the ombudsman. There had been no word, and his crew knew that too.

  Bishop didn’t see Gina on the pier. He took a deep breath and forced himself to push aside the disappointment. His XO radioed the second tugboat approval to nudge the Nevada’s tail, and moments later the soft thud of contact echoed over the water. Bishop had spent the last 16 hours of the transit in the sail, there if Kingman needed assistance with the maneuvers, but the man had the job well in hand. The journey had been spent with little to do and too much time for Bishop to think about what might be waiting for him onshore. Or not . . .

  Bangor Base was a big place, so Gina not being at the pier didn’t mean she wasn’t in the area. Jeff was at sea, but she could be staying at Jeff’s place, could have left a message for him with the ombudsman, could be with the families in the squadron’s ready room, or for that matter could have left a note on his own front door. But the early discouragement had found a foothold, and it ate away at the hope he’d held on to during the long three months.

  He watched, alert for problems as the boat was nestled in against the dock and the mooring lines thrown across. He waited until the dock chief raised his hand, signaling he was satisfied with the position, and the tugboats had reversed, easing back from contact, before he relaxed. He slid off his sunglasses and turned to his XO. “You did a good job.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Kingman looked exhausted. The transit had absorbed every bit of his skill for those last 16 hours. But there was a quiet confidence in the reply that hadn’t been there on their last patrol. Bishop was pleased to hear it. It was part of his job, training his men, then giving them the experience so they could learn the nuances of the sub when at sea.

  Bishop could teach his XO how to direct the boat, train him and the crew through the drills on how to accomplish the boat’s mission with excellence, show the officer how to lead the crew by being an example. Bishop could teach Kingman through conversations and history what it meant to be a captain, what boomers and fast-attacks had done over the years, why a captain made a certain decision during a crisis, and the outcome. The part Bishop was still searching for with Kingman was how to help him be prepared for the responsibility that came with the captain’s chair. Knowing how to do each part of the captain’s job was different than being ready to step into the role. All the unknowns and eventualities required another level of honed instincts, insight, and instant decisions.

  Bishop knew the XO wanted that depth, was working hard and studying hard, was doing anything and everything his captain asked of him, was putting his heart and soul into Nevada gold—and he was close, but they weren’t quite there yet. Bishop carried the burden of command, the responsibility for the lives of 155 men, the safekeeping of nuclear weapons, and the responsibility to fire them when ordered to do so by the commander in chief. A man had to be able to bear up, thinking clearly and confidently, under that pressure. It wasn’t just competence a man needed to be the captain. The command of a ballistic missile submarine took personal courage. It was that intangible element that was still unknown, untested, with Kingman. Was he ready? Bishop would be doing the man no favors if he misjudged the answer to that question.

  He’d personally been taught by good men, and he would get the job done with Kingman and get him ready for that first command of his own. Finishing that job would have to be the focus for the next patrol. This one was three days away from hand-over to Nevada blue, and what could be taught had been done.

  “Your choice, XO, first overnight watch or second? I’ll take the other.”

  “I’ll take tonight’s watch, sir.”

  Bishop smiled, having expected the answer. It was brutal on a tired, overworked body and mind to sleep at home for a night in comfort, then spend the next night back in a sub bunk.

  Bishop moved from the sail back into the command-and-control center, glad to finally have the splint off his fingers so he could transit ladders without the extra care with every motion. He picked up the intercom. “Nevada, this is the captain. Welcome home. A good patrol under difficult circumstances. Thanks to your extra effort, we met every date and every mission objective. Families are gathering at the Squadron 17 ready room. Enlisted not assigned duty stations for the overnight watch are dismissed after the boat is secured. Report back to the boat at 0900 for hand-over preparation. All officers please report in now. Captain out.”

  He headed forward to the radio room to secure the authentication codes. He’d be able to get free of the Nevada in about six hours. If Gina was in the area, he would find her before the night was over.

  Gina wasn’t at the squadron’s ready room, nor was she at Jeff’s place. She wasn’t waiting for him at his home. Mark felt the discouragement fill him as he unlocked his front door, let himself into the house. He went straight to the phone and played the messages on his second private number, given out to only his family and close friends. There was no message from Gina, and the recording space was not full.

  “God, this simply hurts.” He let the pain flow out in the quiet words. He looked at the time. By now it was after one a.m. in Chicago. He was home for only six hours before he was needed back at the Nevada. It was possible she was in Pasadena, working at the JPL facilities. He didn’t let himself dwell on the fact she could have changed her mind and might now be engaged to Daniel. He’d track her down, find out, and he’d deal with what he found.

  Getting home from patrol to deal with personal concerns was a reality every submariner faced, and it never got easier. The ombudsman had handed him the shore update summary with a quiet “Welcome home” but without her normal accompanying smile, and as he’d read it, he understood her sadness. Due to the requirements of the job, the Navy passed along no bad news to a crewman while a ballistic missile submarine was on patrol—it wasn’t a place for a distracted or grieving man. So the bad news piled up.

  Two of his men tonight had walked into homes to find their wives had left and filed for divorce. Four girlfriends had called it quits. Two miscarriages, five babies born healthy, a wife arrested for drunk driving, a teenager in a serious car accident, two deaths of grandparents, a heart attack of a father. What he was dealing with was a hole in his life where he longed to have Gina Gray. As tough as this was, he knew he was in far better circumstances than some in his crew.

  His attempt at convincing himself he wasn’t doing so bad lasted about as long as it took to draw the next breath. The sorrow and disappointment was intense. Mark looked at the time and considered ag
ain calling Gina, but accepted reality. Tracking her down and finding out what he was facing was an endeavor for the morning, not the middle of the night.

  The mail his neighbor had brought in during the patrol was piled on the dining room table. Mark skimmed through the envelopes, separating first class and everything else, so he had a sense of what was urgent. An envelope with Gina’s return address stopped him, and his heart constricted. He held it a moment, sure this was not going to be good. He split it open and pulled out a note card.

  If you can come to Chicago, I would like to have dinner with you and talk. Your Gina

  His breathing started again. It wasn’t much, but those last two words, Your Gina, gave him a sliver of hope. He looked at the date on the postmark. Two months into his patrol. That could be good or bad, depending on how her perspective might have altered in the month since she had posted this.

  Come to Chicago and talk. She wasn’t coming to Bangor, so she was still feeling cautious about being around the Navy. If it came down to it, he’d retire after his three years commanding the Nevada, his twenty years in the Navy, and move back to Chicago to be with Gina. Most of his family was there. He could adapt to being a civilian again and find something interesting to do.

  He searched to find another letter from her, but there was nothing else. Hand-over to Nevada blue was in three days. He’d make travel arrangements for Chicago for the day after that. He would wait to call Gina and ask her to join him for dinner once he was in Chicago, so he could effectively address whatever she told him in reply. She was at least giving him an opportunity to make his case. Or was her decision already made? But would she tell him no over dinner?

  He went to bed hanging on to that sliver of hope the note offered.

  20

  A dusting of snow covered the ground, but Chicago had yet to get its first December winter storm, and the evening was mild. Four months and eight days since refit and the 90-day patrol began. Gina had been the first thought when he woke up, the last before he slept. Mark parked in her driveway, retrieved his jacket on the passenger seat, picked up a single orchid. Gina was on the front porch in a light jacket, working on a potted plant set on a tall stand. She looked up and smiled, lifted a hand in welcome when he got out of the car, but otherwise she stayed focused on her task. She’d turned on the porch lights as the evening light was beginning to fade.

  She might be engaged by now. She might be going to turn down his proposal, and this time Daniel wouldn’t be there to run interference. Regardless of what was coming, Mark was going to treasure what he could of the evening in case it was his last with her.

  Her smile and hello were a bit tentative. He would have given her a hug, but he responded in kind. He stayed at ground level and rested his arms across the stair railing, working to maintain a relaxed posture while she finished up rescuing the plant.

  He loved her. It took no more than the sight of her and that smile for the emotions to turn his chest tight.

  “I planned to be ready early, and instead I’m way behind schedule,” she said.

  “That’s okay. I take it you weren’t the one to knock over the plant?” Her front door was open, and there were two half-grown kitten faces and a puppy looking out through the glass of the storm door.

  “The three chased each other into the sunroom where I had this plant. The cats dashed behind the pot, and the puppy got to taste dirt before his body stopped. I think the cats were smirking about that.”

  Mark smiled. “Poor little guy. What’s his name?”

  “Your niece named him Pongo, and I’ve found it has kind of stuck.”

  “Pocket, Pages, and Pongo. You’ve got a pattern going.”

  “I do.” She pulled off her work gloves.

  There wasn’t a ring on her left hand. He felt some of the pressure in his chest ease. “How are you doing, Gina?” he asked.

  “That’s a rather long answer.” She stored the potting soil, trowel, and extra pot in the closet at the end of the porch and picked up her rescued plant. “Come on in, Mark.”

  He followed her inside.

  Mark picked up one of the half-grown kittens, watched the puppy with feet too big for his body tug at a tattered piece of fabric on which the other cat was lying. The cat flattened its ears and hissed, but didn’t take a swipe as the puppy pushed its face into hers. Familiarity. They were playing together, of a sort.

  Gina’s home had lost the neatness seen during his last visit, and small changes had appeared: large, heavy pottery by the front door, a new coatrack, another bookshelf in the living room. From the look of things, she’d mostly been living on this main level. There was a sweater tossed over the couch arm, a stack of mail on the coffee table, Post-it notes beside the television remote, work papers and a writing board beside one of the wingback chairs. A laptop had been placed on the coffee table. She’d gone into the kitchen and found a tall vase for the orchid and risked placing it on that same coffee table, then retreated to get them both drinks.

  Mark glanced up as Gina reentered the room carrying two glasses of iced tea. She’d left the room not just for the drinks, he thought, but to give herself a few more moments of space. Her words and smile might have been calm and welcoming, but it wasn’t the full story. She hadn’t been sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes had the look of being weeks in the making.

  This was a woman who was uncomfortable, and his silence was making her even less comfortable. But he didn’t know what to say. He needed to get a read on what she was thinking before he could figure out what direction to go with his comments. She settled on the couch across from him. He sipped the iced tea she’d handed him and waited.

  “Daniel and I talked a lot before he departed on patrol,” she said quietly. “Before this evening continues, you need to know that he and I are no longer dating.”

  He hadn’t expected that.

  “I don’t love him. I wish I did. I wanted to,” she admitted. “I wanted desperately for that final piece of the equation to fall in place. I finally had to accept it wasn’t going to happen.”

  “That had to be a very tough decision for you . . . for him.”

  “It was painful for both of us.” She rested her arm along the back of the couch. “But deciding he isn’t the one isn’t the same as deciding you are.”

  “I accept that, Gina.”

  “I flew back to Bangor to tell you no, the day after you proposed. Daniel talked me out of it.”

  “I know that too. And now?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I’m not sure of anything about us. I’m trying my best to keep an open mind. I’m not trying to be difficult, Mark. I just don’t know what to think, what to do.”

  “Gina, go back some months to before you came to Bangor. What were you praying for?”

  “To find a husband.”

  “You’ve found one.”

  She shook her head slightly, rejecting his calm assurance.

  “I accept your emotions are all over the place right now,” he continued. “Answer me this. Would you be willing to spend some time with me, let us date seriously? Would you be willing to give us some time together for you to get to know me better?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve got 28 days of leave. I’ll be in Chicago for as much of it as you would like me to be. I packed so I’d be able to stay.”

  “I didn’t expect that.”

  “I’m not telling you that to put pressure on you, Gina. Just that I think time together will be easier for you when it’s on your own turf. I made a list while I was on patrol—things you and I could do together. You can choose as many items from that long list as you like for the next month. Or add some of your own.”

  He studied her face, wishing he better knew her expressions and could interpret what she might be thinking. “Talk to me. Just start somewhere and tell me what you’re thinking about me, about us. Give me some sense of the ground you’re standing on.”

  “I still lea
n toward saying no,” she replied carefully, meeting his gaze. “I do admire you. You’re a man who bears responsibility well. You’re a leader and well respected. You had a good marriage. I trust you. I respect your advice. You’re gentle with me—I think you see me and understand me better than most people. I enjoy our conversations very much. In many ways you fit me better than Daniel. You have a quieter, more peaceful personal life.

  “But the truth is, Mark, I’m too young for you. I’m chaos-writ-large at times. I’m emotionally needy. I’m unsure of myself. I’m not like Melinda. You need someone who has her life together. Mine keeps falling even further apart. There’s the possibility of you becoming the top submarine guy in the Navy one day. You need someone with more social strengths, more people skills, to help with your career. I’d be a liability rather than a help. I don’t bring much useful to the table as your wife. ”

  He waited a moment to give her carefully thought-out statements some room. “Gina, I’d like you to see yourself through my eyes—”

  “I don’t want to spend my life feeling that gap I can never close,” she put in, “between what you need and who I am.”

  He agreed with about half her statement. “Marriage is an interesting proposition, Gina,” he finally said. “It’s a relationship, a friendship, along with a rich, deep level of intimacy. It’s a lot of things, dreaming together, planning a future together.”

  “I’d spend my life leaning against you, hoping you could get me out of whatever latest troubles I’ve gotten myself into.”

  “Your ideas and discoveries.”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “I was kind of looking forward to that part, Gina. I love how your mind works. I like responsibility—thrive on it. I could buffer some of what comes because of those discoveries, work out who should know what and when. Figure out the downsides and how to deal with them. We’d be a good team.”